


still worship this love

by ivyrobinson



Series: clandestine meetings [2]
Category: Anastasia (1997), Anastasia - Flaherty/Ahrens/McNally
Genre: Canon Divergent, F/M, sexy bathtub times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:14:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26904955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivyrobinson/pseuds/ivyrobinson
Summary: what anya does with all that free time she has now that crossing a bridge has been cut from the musical. alternately, Anya goes to find Dmitry in the bathtub to see what all the hype is about
Relationships: Dimitri | Dmitry/Anya | Anastasia Romanov (Anastasia 1997 & Broadway)
Series: clandestine meetings [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1974949
Comments: 11
Kudos: 40





	still worship this love

**Author's Note:**

> for cat; who requested some paris bathtub fun.

Dmitry lets out a breath and slides down in the tub when he can hear someone enter the suite. He’d expected Vlad to be gone for hours, off to find and court his Lily. He knew Anya wanted to see the bridge and expected her to be gone for a while, swept away with the romanticism of the city around them. 

He could feel it too, even if he was trying desperately to ignore it. 

He’s less surprised to see Anya in the doorway, having returned than he would’ve with Vlad. For one thing, Vlad also wouldn’t seek him out in the bathtub. 

“Lose interest so quickly?” He asks and she takes off her stockings before sitting on the edge of the tub. This intimacy is a dangerous game they keep playing. 

She splashes some water at him, “The bridge was beautiful. Overwhelmingly so. Came back to center myself.” 

“In the bathroom?” He asks, tilting his head back against the edge. 

“Wanted to see what the fuss was about with the bathtub,” she says, looking at him under lowered lashes. Waiting for a challenge or invitation to be issued. 

Dmitry doesn’t give in, however, he reaches over, hands on her waist and hauls her in the tub, and she shrieks in response. 

“This was one of the best outfits I’ve ever worn,” she complains, trying to shrug out of the blazer and throwing it off the side as though that would save it. Her skirt is fully immersed as is her top so he’s not certain how much can truly be saved of the outfit. 

Anya gets up on her knees to climb out, but he figures the damage is already done and how many more playful moments like this can a Grand Duchess really have? Or, more accurately, can he have with a woman that could very well be the lost Grand Duchess. So Dmitry grips her waist again and pulls her closer. 

“You’re the biggest ass I’ve ever met,” she says, her chignon falling out of place with wet tendrils, her top translucent in the water, and her lips covering his. He takes advantage of the moment to tug her hair free, tendrils falling loosely around her shoulders again. More Anya than Anastasia. “This isn’t exactly what I meant.” 

His lips make their way down her neck, her head tipping back and she’s not really complaining or stopping him. 

“Isn’t the end result the same?” He kisses the pout from her lips. “When you’re recognized by the Empress as Anastasia, you’ll have a dozen more of these outfits.” 

“Don’t want to talk about that right now,” she tells him and pulls her soaked top up off of her. “Show me what the fuss is about with the bath.” 

They’ve had a rule- stop this when they leave Russia, stop this when they arrive in France, stop this when she meets the Empress. The finish line keeps getting pushed further and further back and they’re fooling themselves. But they also seem to be on a train with broken brakes and he’s never welcomed a crash so heartily before. 

“There’s scented soap,” he points out, his hand sliding up her inner thigh. “Warm water.” She spreads legs a little wider as his fingers tease against her. “Excellent company.” 

“Adequate company,” she bites back, but she’s rocking her hips against his hand and pulling his mouth against her chest. 

The water splashes sloppily against the edge and they stop their conversation. Just the sound of the water moving and Anya’s little gasps and whimpers. In here, right now, it’s easy to see why Paris is called the city of love. 

She clutches his shoulders and comes apart against his hand and covers his face in little kisses until her breathing is back down to a more normal speed. 

“There are some charms,” she agrees in a daze, before standing up to shimmy out of her skirt, an unrecognizable wrinkled, bogged down mess that joins her top on the floor. 

She turns around, sitting in the tub, her back against his front, and he wraps his arms around her midsection to pull her back against him. 

“It’s supposed to relax you,” Dmitry points out, even though since she entered the room, this bath has done nothing but wind him up. 

“I’m relaxed,” she says, her eyes fluttering shut. “Wouldn’t have thought of you as a lavender soap sort of guy.”

There wasn’t much to choose from. And also, “It reminded me of you.” 

Anya smiles at that, “Like the thought of you smelling like me.” She tilts her head back and he manages a sort of kiss on her lips. 

She turns back around to kiss him properly, urgent and hungry. 

“Thought you were relaxed,” Dmitry teases, his hand pressed against the small of her back. 

Anya pulls on his bottom lip with her teeth and releases. “Starting to feel a bit wound up again.” 

Dmitry smiles and she smiles back and it’s a soft moment before she’s reaching down, guiding him into her. It’s a frantic, frenzied joining, the sand in the timer clearly running out on them and they can feel it with every kiss that brings them closer to their last, every shared breath, every gasp of pleasure. 

This is for them and they need to beat the clock on it. 

Anya collapses against him, her arms and legs curling against him, as though she can cling to this in the face of the future that awaits her. 

Tonight, he thinks even as he’s getting out of the tub with Anya still secured around him, this will be the final finish line. Tonight will be the last time they do this, the last time they’ll pretend like she doesn’t have a grand adventure awaiting her with her grandmother when they’re reunited. 

And yet, Dmitry still comes running later that night when she wakes up screaming from a nightmare. No amount of running towards your future will help you escape your past, no matter who you are. 

And maybe, just maybe, there is no finish line for him when it comes to her, even though the same can never be true for her.


End file.
